


where there is a flame

by euphemea



Series: scarred, still alive [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Dimitri/Glenn, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, Glenn lives AU, Inspired by Art, M/M, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: Felix doesn’t understand it—why does his brother try? Glenn is not a knight these days and he does not watch over a prince; the boar shows scraps of humanity under his cruelty and hatred, but Dimitri is long gone and Glenn’s presence won’t bring him back. Glenn lost everything to the Tragedy of Duscur, and yet he still clings to all that failed him and left him for dead those ten years ago.Glenn is not a knight, only a patched-together, lost soul standing guard over another, and he does not ever need to be a knight again.And yet Glenn does not let knighthood go.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: scarred, still alive [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650373
Comments: 19
Kudos: 158





	where there is a flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pocketegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketegg/gifts).



> Like the previous work of this series, this was inspired by [Casey/@eggyankee](https://twitter.com/eggyankee)'s Glenn! And also, by Devin's suggestion to make Felix cry by giving Sylvain a childhood crush on Glenn. Please redirect all blame for the angst to them. 
> 
> Warning for Felix's dehumanization of Dimitri throughout this fic.
> 
> Thank you to [Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes) for helping me work through some of the issues in this!

Felix sees red when Glenn brushes a casual hand through the boar’s stringy, unwashed hair, a small motion laden with affection and rife with misplaced trust.

It’s futile. Like petting a mangy, sour mutt, diseased and flea-bitten and utterly unable to comprehend the hand that feeds it as it growls at friend and foe alike. Dimitri doesn’t leave the cathedral, and Glenn is almost ceaselessly at his side, still and silent, too much like the ghost the boar sometimes claims him to be. 

(Felix has found his way to the cathedral on occasion too, a sneer drawn on his face as he watches Glenn sit to the side and hum tunelessly, his good hand fiddling with a dagger. 

It happens more rarely these days—if Felix stews for too long, Sylvain will inevitably find his way into his corner of the cathedral to gently guide him away, all fragile smiles and offers of comfort, the sturdy weight across Felix’s shoulders an indelible reminder that at least something is real. Sylvain’s touch is impossibly warm and soothing even when he wears his armor, but his expression is painted soft and scared, pulling painfully at something trying to claw its way out of Felix’s chest, and a hidden question that Sylvain refuses to give voice to bubbles beneath the surface. Every time Felix assents to take his hand, relief drops over his clouded gaze, and something unfurls a little from within Felix too. 

Though fewer and far between, the vigils Felix still holds leave an indescribable bitterness that carves its way through him, spidering numbness from the inside out; an ineffable coldness seizes him as the boar stares once more into the dust, as Glenn’s gaze fails yet again to comprehend the beast before his eyes.)

Glenn does not smile as he holds his watch. He does little more than blink and breathe, but the irrefutable air of tenderness in the corners of his eyes and softness of his mouth turns Felix’s stomach. The boar does not deserve Glenn’s kindness any more than he deserves the blame for Glenn’s scars, and the deep void inside him takes and takes and takes as it draws Glenn further into its depth.

Felix doesn’t understand it—why does his brother try? Glenn is not a knight these days and he does not watch over a prince; the boar shows scraps of humanity under his cruelty and hatred, but Dimitri is long gone and Glenn’s presence won’t bring him back. Glenn lost everything to the Tragedy of Duscur, and yet he still clings to all that failed him and left him for dead those ten years ago. 

Glenn is not a knight, only a patched-together, lost soul standing guard over another, and he does not ever need to be a knight again. 

And yet Glenn does not let knighthood go.

* * *

Glenn taps arrhythmically against the hilt of his sword with his good hand, and he blinks scrutinizingly at Felix across the training grounds. 

“You’re angry, Felix.”

Felix scoffs. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m _not_.”

Glenn purses his lips and tilts his head in that way that says to cut the bullshit. “You’re mad at Dimitri. You’re mad at me.”

“That _thing_ isn’t Dimitri,” Felix says, unable to resist the bait in Glenn’s words, and his hand rises to wipe the sweat from his brow. “ _It_ is not worth your time. And I’m not mad at you.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you, ’Lix,” Glenn says easily as he approaches.

Felix grunts. “I’m not lying—I’m saying that you should do more than just watch it, day in, day out. It’s not going to change its mind, and you’re just wasting daylight in there with it.”

“ _He_ is your prince, Felix,” Glenn says, his brows drawing together. “You may not agree with him, and you may not especially _like_ him at the moment, but do remember that, at the very least.” 

“I do remember. I have to remember that every time he—every time _it_ cries once more for Edelgard’s head. I have to remember it every time h— _it_ chooses once more to abandon our country for a pointless conquest of vengeance. I have to remember every time it thinks it’s fighting to avenge you, even though you’re _right here_.” Felix swings his sword to strike the nearest dummy, releasing a cloud of dust and a few stray strands of straw. “Don’t tell me to remember—I’m not the one who’s forgotten.”

“Fe. He’s still Dimitri. He’s… changed, he’s been hurt, but he’s still your friend.” Glenn places a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Please give him another chance. He needs you. He needs all of you.”

Felix throws the sword aside in disgust, shoving past his brother as he exits. Apparently he can’t find peace even in his training.

* * *

Sylvain presses a chaste kiss to Felix’s forehead as he drops into the seat next to him. Across the dining hall table, Ingrid makes a noise of revulsion and Annette giggles. Sylvain sends them both a wink as he scoots closer to Felix, and Felix begrudgingly leans into the other man’s presence.

“Everything okay, babe?” Sylvain says, placing a hand on Felix’s thigh. 

“Fine.”

“He’s not fine,” Ingrid says, once again adding her unnecessary commentary. Felix sends her a scowl and she rolls her eyes in response. “He’s been pissy all evening, and it’s putting me off my food.”

Sylvain squeezes gently. “Do you want to talk about it, Fe?”

“Everything’s _fine_.”

“Okay,” Sylvain says, and Felix glances at him. There’s a small, raw smile at the corners of his lips, his eyes downturned in that sappy way Felix doesn’t know how to deal with, and something around Felix’s midriff does a squeezed flip. Sylvain’s smile grows a little wider, and Felix’s heart pounds in response with that gross, romantic timbre that Felix is learning is allowed. “I’m here whenever you need, Fe.”

Felix turns back to his food. “Okay.”

His food tastes a little better after that, and he lets himself savor the gentle joy of Sylvain’s leg pressed against his.

Sylvain settles into his own food, teasingly offering Felix a bite or two off his own fork as they eat in companionable quiet. Felix takes the second bite—because Sylvain is annoying, and who is Felix to say no to perfectly good rabbit?—and he ignores Ingrid’s groan in favor of enjoying the light flush that spreads its way up Sylvain’s neck. Felix can see the way Sylvain’s eyes trace his smirk as he chews the spiced meat, and a curl of satisfaction winds into his veins.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me here,” Sylvain whines, his hand straying to crawl up Felix’s leg before it’s quickly slapped it away.

Felix rolls his eyes. “If I was trying to kill you, you’d know,” he says drily.

The rest of the meal passes unremarkably; Felix tunes out Ingrid’s blathering about the state of the stables and pegasus care in wartime. 

He barely finishes the last of his teppanyaki before Sylvain pulls him to his feet and drags him away from their friends with little more than a cursory goodbye. For once, he’s silent, a man on a mission—but Felix can read the pink in his cheeks and the way his eyes had slid to Felix’s lips so many times through the meal. A small part of Felix feels a little foolish for having missed it before (far too caught in avidly denying the others’ claims that he was being obtuse), but he silences that voice before it can fester. Sylvain is here _now_ , and that’s enough. 

They stutter to a halt in front of Felix’s room, and Sylvain’s eyes dart between that door and his own at the end of the hall, wavering on a pointless choice. Felix clicks his tongue and roughly shoves past the tired, decrepit wood, his grip tight as he draws the other man in behind him.

There’s a beat as Sylvain gets his bearings, and then—

Felix is being devoured, his back pressed roughly against the wall, and Sylvain’s hands find their way around his waist and into his hair as he kisses, demanding and desperate. Felix gives as good as he gets, wet and biting and with years of simmered _something_ , and he grins when he feels a whine rise from the back of Sylvain’s throat. The kissing is still new, still playing at finding familiarity, still barely scrabbling for purchase against a lake of newly-unfettered affections. 

Felix relishes every discovery that draws another strangled groan or bruisingly tight grip, and he dives deeper and deeper into the roaring tide of emotion that comes with Sylvain’s broad warmth enveloping him as it drags him into tantalizing promised depths; Felix’s face is set to flames as he finds himself in equal parts mortified and thrilled by Sylvain’s attempts to make the same revelations of him. It’s with one part trepidation and many parts love that he throws himself off to sink into the oncoming waves.

It’s like this, caged against the shitty, ancient stone of nostalgic, broken halls, that Felix thinks that maybe some trivialities are worth indulging.

* * *

Later, tangled together in Felix’s bed:

“You want to tell me why you were upset earlier?” Sylvain says as he wraps an arm around Felix’s waist. 

Trust Sylvain to ruin the mood. Felix leans up slightly and squints out into the room, looking for his clothes. He really should go train more; Glenn’s probably gone back to his post in the cathedral by now. 

“Not really.”

The arm around his waist tightens, holding him in place. “Please, Fe. Stay.”

Felix doesn’t want to stay. Especially not if they’re going to have this conversation. 

“Let me go.”

Sylvain complies, but his face drops into that vacant, morose expression he makes when he expects Felix to tell him to leave the cathedral without him, and Felix’s heart does an unpleasant flip.

Felix huffs quietly. While non-optimal, he’ll allow that further training can wait till morning. And, he supposes, Sylvain’s chest makes for a nice enough pillow, and good, efficient resting spots are hard to come by in war. 

Felix flops his head back down and buries his face in Sylvain’s shoulder. 

Sylvain brings a hand up to toy with a lock of Felix’s hair. “I promise, I’m here for you, babe. You can tell me anything.”

Felix frowns.

Is he? Is Sylvain really? Can he promise that he’ll really stay, that he won’t just jump to the next conquest? Can he prove that he’s not just made of empty, flowery words? He’s been warming Felix’s bed for the better part of a month now, far longer than Sylvain’s usual relationships, but he’ll get bored soon. And even if he doesn’t, they’re at war, and there’s no real expectation that they’ll both make it through the next battle alive.

Can he promise that he’ll live through the war and stay by Felix’s side?

Can Sylvain say that he’d choose to live for Felix if it came at a price to their campaign? 

(Would he be another of Felix’s closest allies who would choose Dimitri?

Would he abandon their vow to die by each others’ sides?)

“…Okay.” 

There’s a beat of quiet as Sylvain laces a few strands together into a tiny braid.

“You can’t just hold it in, Fe.”

Felix grunts. There’s a part of him that wants to say “ _watch me_ ”. 

He bites his lip, tamping down on that urge. He’s not supposed to do that in this relationship thing, apparently. “Communication”, or some such bullshit. “ _Use your words, Felix_ ”, as Annette never stops chiding. Easy for her to say. 

He doesn’t want Sylvain’s empty platitudes, he doesn’t need words wasted on useless sentiment—he has no desire to burden Sylvain with his pointless, petty thoughts. They have enough to worry about in the war without Felix whining about wanting his big brother to pay more attention to him, like they’re still kids and Glenn just gave Dimitri the first piggyback ride. 

Felix keeps his mouth shut. 

Sylvain sighs quietly and presses a kiss against Felix’s temple. “Is it Glenn again?”

“…No.”

“Felix, I can tell when you’re lying.”

“It’s not Glenn.”

Sylvain snorts quietly, hand dropping away from hair to gently thumb against Felix’s hip. “Sure, okay, I’ll bite. If it’s not your handsome, small knight of a brother, is it our dear, haunted prince?”

Felix grumbles and turns away, very much wishing that Sylvain would get a clue and drop the subject. He’s _fine_. He can deal with his own problems. “Leave it alone, Sylvain.” 

Felix’s eyebrows draw into a frown as he slowly processes Sylvain’s words. “Wait, ‘handsome, small knight’?” he repeats, sitting up. Doubt claws at him, sprouting grotesquely as he turns the words over in his mind.

Sylvain makes a noise of disappointment and tries to pull Felix back to his chest. “I mean, Glenn’s always been objectively good-looking. Nothing on you, Fe, but—”

“What do you mean ‘Glenn’s always been objectively good-looking’?!” Felix narrows his eyes.

Sylvain shrugs. “I mean, you’re both hot. Fraldariuses are just hot people. And I guess, somehow, all those scars just add to his looks? Like, they make him mysterious and sexy.” Sylvain catches Felix’s eyes, and he brings his hands up, backpedaling wildly. “Nothing on you, babe! You’re definitely hotter! I mean, your ass is a little bony, and sometimes your hair has some really sad split ends, but, they’re part of your charm and—”

“You’re not helping yourself, Gautier.”

Sylvain laughs, slightly sheepish. “Right, well. I mean… I might have had a crush on Glenn back when we were kids? That’s how I found out I was into men too.” He pauses, nervously refusing to meet Felix’s gaze. Felix’s heart pounds unpleasantly and he shoves Sylvain’s arm away. Sylvain continues in a rush. “But it’s not like that now! I got over that before Duscur even happened. I’m in love with _you_ , Fe. I have been, for—well, for a really long time. Bony ass and all, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The words ring hollow in Felix’s head. He knew it. He _knew_ it. He knew he was stupid to trust Sylvain’s words, to trust that the other man wasn’t just playing with Felix’s heart and trying to get his dick wet. 

After all, who would want _Felix_? Why would anyone desire the extension of a sword, incapable of comprehending feeling and reciprocating emotion?

Felix’s feet meet the floor, and he kicks Sylvain’s clothes out of the way as he finds his own. 

“Felix, sweetheart, come back to bed.”

_I might have had a crush on Glenn._

Felix unearths his braies and pulls them on roughly.

“Where are you going?”

_I might have had a crush on Glenn._

Just another person that has only ever seen Felix as a stand-in, just another time someone settled for Felix as their second choice. This time, though, not a family member choosing Dimitri first as a brother or son, but a lover wishing he could have been Glenn.

Felix picks up his shirt and trousers. 

“Put on your clothes Sylvain, then get out.” He doesn’t look back at the bed, his voice ice-cold as he dresses with blistering efficiency, roughly pulling on his turtleneck and pants before shoving his feet into his boots.

“Wait, Felix—”

Felix pauses at the door.

“I’m going to train, and you’d better be gone when I get back.”

* * *

It turns out that staying out until well past the midnight bell, beating bags of sand and straw into submission, is not what most would recommend as a good idea. Most, of course, are wrong, but Felix will accept that some level of sleep is needed to ensure peak performance in battle. Still, training is the only way to hone one’s skills, and the others would do well to put their efforts into their battle-readiness.

Unfortunately for tonight, though, Felix is not the only one who cannot sleep. 

The Professor peers in on him, their silent gaze chastising as they stand in the doorway, and Felix acquiesces, reluctantly replacing the sword on the rack and exiting behind them. He’s properly tired from the exertion of his training, but his mind is still too busy, and Felix wanders the monastery, careless of where his feet take him. 

It’s surreal to see Garreg Mach this empty. It had always been so full of life when he was a student, even at his late training hours. Tonight, on the other hand, save for the Professor’s luminescent green hair retreating back towards their room and a few aloof cats going about their business, Felix is the only person still awake at this hour.

 _I might have had a crush on Glenn._

Sylvain’s words rattle in a cacophonous, mocking loop in his mind, and Felix barely suppresses the urge to punch something. His hands flex irritably around thin air, and he fervently wishes he still had a sword to swing.

It turns out that even his feet are against him, because Felix finds himself peering up at heavy cathedral doors, menacing and eerie in the darkness of night. He’s sure that on the other side, the boar is still awake, muttering angrily to imagined companions as Glenn silently watches on. A nauseating sight in the daylight, likely no better at night.

He considers turning back and searching for the few hours of sleep that night might still avail him, but Felix is not a coward, and confronting the boar might finally pop the ballooning frustration swelling inside Felix’s chest and allow him to truly rest. The doors creak slowly open and Felix slips in beyond them, ready to charge past the pews and maybe _finally_ get the fight that he’s been itching for, but he stops short as he spots the pile of fur lying peacefully on the ground, head pillowed in Glenn’s lap.

Felix can’t hear the words Glenn whispers into Dimitri’s hair, but the mass of blue shudders slightly and clings to Glenn, a wrecked sob choking its way out to echo in the cathedral. Even without light, there’s a gentle quality to how Glenn’s good hand strokes comfortingly against Dimitri’s head, an unfamiliar kindness to Glenn’s face that strangely suits him. Glenn curls protectively over Dimitri and rests his head against the fur of the cloak, settling down with a quiet sigh that sounds like “little lion”. Dimitri lets out a low moan and Glenn shushes him carefully, head inching closer until they’re close enough that their faces overlap.

Felix tears his eyes away, fight not quite gone but nonetheless replaced by abject horror, and he turns on his heel to push through those heavy cathedral doors once more. The late hour and residual exhaustion of his training call to him, and he resigns himself to returning to bed. 

Every step replays Glenn and the boar wandering closer to one another, drawing steadily more entangled with every breath, lost in their own tiny, untouchable galaxy.

Glenn and Dimitri, Glenn and the boar, Glenn and _it_. 

Felix walks quickly away, determined to put distance between himself and the harsh truth he should have been ready to face. The ugly, smoldering flames of jealousy and resignation in Felix’s gut erupt as he stews, and the jeering voice the envy brings laughs mockingly that Glenn would never offer _him_ that level of comfort. Like so many others, Felix’s brother would rather have had Dimitri as the younger Fraldarius. Unrelated by blood, fallen to madness, and yet still the favored one.

Felix’s room confronts him all too soon, and he hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. Either Sylvain is inside or he’s not, and neither outcome is especially appealing. The last thing he needs tonight is to face another person who wants him only as a replacement, as a shell of himself, but there, too, lies a small, childish part of Felix that wants to be soothed, whatever the price, and it cries out for comfort.

Felix inhales sharply and enters, steadying himself for whatever he might find within.

It’s empty: the bed stands made, and not a single stray article of clothing can be found. The only sign that Sylvain had been here at all lies on Felix’s desk (organized out of its usual chaos), a single sheet of parchment at its center with only the words “Dear Felix” staring up at him.

Sylvain left. Because of course he did. (Felix had told him to get out, and the fact that Sylvain had actually listened for once makes the sting of loneliness all the worse.)

Felix drops to the bed and kicks off his boots, falling back against cold sheets.

Despite his bone-deep tiredness, sleep does not claim him.

* * *

The sluggish weariness of a night spent tossing and turning dogs Felix to breakfast the next morning, and he drops heavily into the seat across from Annette, his plate thudding against the table. 

Felix can feel Sylvain’s gaze across the dining hall, but he doesn’t allow himself to look up and make eye contact. He is not that weak, not that needy, not that desperate for affection. Sylvain can look elsewhere for meaningless sex or a lookalike to replace his childhood crush. The weakest, most selfish part of Felix still yearns, but he’ll cull that uselessness, burn anyway the craving, kill the desire for what he can’t have.

Felix won’t look for the things he can’t have. 

Not anymore.

“Fe—!”

Sylvain makes to rise from his seat, waving at Felix with a half-questioning smile on his face, and Felix sends him a glare before turning fully away to address Annette. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix can see Sylvain wilt, hand dropping back to his side. Sylvain’s eyes fall to the table, and he slouches down into his seat, fork rising slowly to pick at his food. 

“Sylvain’s looking at you,” Annette says, her sweet face pinched with concern.

Felix scowls. “Let him.”

Annette chews her lip but lets the conversation drop, returning to her previous topic of the greenhouse’s recovery and the prospects of planting a new crop of vegetables to feed their troops: it’s usable and the plants will likely grow fine, but the delay is worrying; resources can’t stretch much more. 

While he adores and appreciates Annette, Felix can’t say he’s ever been interested in vegetables, and his mind wanders, lulled to peace by her melodious voice. He doesn’t manage to stop himself from chancing a glance over his shoulder, and immediately, his eyes meet Sylvain’s. 

Felix quickly turns away, heart hammering, and stands.

“Sorry, Annette. Tell me some other time? Please sing your newest song about the greenhouse plants for me, and I’ll listen better.”

“What? Ohhh, don’t tease me, Felix, you meanie!”

He throws a careless wave to her as he leaves, and he wills himself to keep from looking again at Sylvain. The weakness still living in Felix’s chest pangs with a note of misplaced guilt and loneliness, but he succeeds in not looking back. Better to keep Sylvain at an arm’s length until he’s sure he won’t be feeble in the face of his own fruitless emotions.

* * *

Sylvain follows him through the monastery, pointedly oblivious to the fact that his presence is unwelcome and objectionable—he lurks in the corners of Felix’s sight. His words echo half-voiced and poised to interrupt Felix’s training, to ruin Felix’s meals, to disrupt Felix’s conversations with others. It’s amazing how he can bother Felix so completely, acting as though he deserves a monopoly on Felix’s time. Sylvain wears his facade of blamelessness well: his face carefully arranged in a downtrodden expression, his shoulders set to droop, his hands just moments from being wrung. 

Felix doesn’t look at him, but it hurts to see him anyway.

“Hey, Felix—”

“Babe—”

“Fe, please—”

Felix isn’t going to buy any of them. He keeps his eyes ahead, refusing to turn to the distraction desperately vying for his attention. It’s _understandable_ that Sylvain wouldn’t love Felix, because what is there to love? But Sylvain’s lies are his own, and Felix can’t forgive him for that. 

Felix can’t fathom the idea of losing Sylvain for good, because he’s always cared more than his fair share about the air-headed idiot, but he needs the space to steel himself. To hold off the impending heartbreak. He can talk to Sylvain again when his heart no longer aches.

And besides, Sylvain has to learn that he’ll get nowhere faking his way through life.

* * *

“Well, you look like death.” Ingrid says, raising an eyebrow at Felix. 

“Fuck off.” 

The sword in Felix’s hand feels heavier than usual, his sleeplessness beating against the edges of his consciousness. Exhaustion weighs Felix down, but he can’t risk taking more time to rest. Every day brings the chance for another battle he must be ready for, and the expedition to Ailell is fast approaching.

(With it will come another unpleasant reminder of what it’s like to be the third place son in a family with only two. Felix won’t think of that until he absolutely must.) 

Ingrid stares at him, leaning heavily on her lance. “I’m trying to help you, Felix.” She shrugs a shoulder noncommittally. “And maybe Sylvain. He’s been sulking. And he’s gone into town every night and come back dead drunk. Do you know anything about that?”

“No,” Felix says, heart clenching. “If he’s upset about something, it’s his own fault. It’s not my problem if he copes badly.” 

Sylvain doesn’t have the right to be upset, not when he’s the one using Felix to fill the black hole that is his heart. He’s to blame for Felix’s poor state (though he’s thankfully learned to allow Felix some small modicum of space, though it had unfortunately taken four days for that particular lesson to sink in); Felix’s emotions are proving harder to tame than he’d like, and he finds himself struggling to fall asleep without human warmth at his back.

It’s a disgusting shortcoming, but one that Felix is sure he can overcome.

Ingrid frowns, crossing her arms and leveling him with a flat look. “If you two are fighting, don’t make me be the middleman. I’ve had to do that enough for Sylvain over the years.”

“Nobody asked you to do anything,” Felix grits his teeth and swings. The strike is sloppy, and Felix glares at his uncooperative arms. “It’s none of your business.”

Ingrid shifts her grip on the lance and brings it to a ready position, carelessly threatening and grating against Felix’s already frayed nerves. “Do you really think that, Felix? I thought we were past all the ‘push everyone away’ garbage.” 

“I’m not pushing anyone away. I’m just focusing on my training,” Felix says, whirling to face her. “Either spar with me or leave.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Don’t complain to me when I beat you.” She kicks a mark into the sand, taking her place and waiting for Felix’s attack.

She dodges away nimbly when Felix lunges and strikes with her lance _once, twice, three times_ , against his waist, against his shoulder, against the backs of his knees. The movements are clean and precise, far better than Felix’s own, and he growls in frustration. 

Ingrid’s fighting style is fair, readable, _predictable_ ; it’s usually so easily beatable and so vulnerable to clever tactics—but Felix can’t seem to wrap his mind around any of it today. Soon, _far_ too soon, Ingrid stands over him, her lance pointed at his neck, and she sighs as she drops her stance, offering him a hand up.

He does not need pity. Felix growls and pushes himself to his feet, betrayed by an unsteady lurch as he rises.

Ingrid gazes at him, scrutinizing. “Please, Felix… I’m just worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he retorts, but his heart isn’t in it. 

* * *

Felix’s twenty-third birthday passes with little fanfare, but still more than he’d like. 

The others accost him in the training grounds and pull him to the kitchens to celebrate. They don’t have the materials for a cake, and Felix doesn’t want one, so it’s mostly just Annette singing to him and complaining that she wishes Mercedes had been able to bake as they eat their dinner. Ashe promises to buy him a book of knights’ tales when the war is over, and Ingrid offers to take over his chores for the week. 

Notably absent are Glenn and the boar, presumably still whiling the hours away in their corner of the cathedral.

Sylvain wishes him happy birthday, smile bright and expectant as he tells Felix to find him later for his gift. Felix doesn’t.

* * *

Felix cracks two days later, and he caves to the infantile urge pestering him to beg Glenn to praise him for succeeding in not dying for another year.

He knows that his journey to the cathedral will be fruitless, that there are better uses of his time; the boar hasn’t changed in the least since the last time he visited, and Glenn hasn’t bothered to see how his only actual brother has been. The two of them still stand in their corner as they hold vigil over the uncleared rubble, the boar muttering angrily to the air as Glenn looks on. 

And yet, Felix had not been able to keep himself away.

“Glenn.”

Felix’s voice echoes in the vast emptiness of the half-destroyed cathedral. The single monk hovering in a far corner glances quizzically at him before returning to prayer, but Glenn and the boar remain undisturbed, still lost in their tiny galaxy of communing with ghosts or whatever the fuck it is Dimitri thinks he can do.

“ _Glenn_ ,” Felix repeats, more insistent.

Glenn turns his head toward the call of his name, and he raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet Felix’s.

Felix crosses his arms and jerks his head toward the exit, his foot tapping impatiently. Glenn’s eyebrow rises higher, but he offers Felix a single, sharp nod and walks toward him. The boar growls as Glenn makes to leave, a feral beast unable to part from its keeper. Glenn turns back, offering it a few quiet, reassuring words and a careful pat on the shoulder. With the monster satisfactorily calmed, Glenn briefly meets Felix’s eyes once more before he stalks toward the exit. 

Outside, Glenn turns to fully face Felix.

“Do you need something, Fe?”

Felix shoves down the instinctive, _I need my brother_ , and an unrelenting and petulant, _You forgot my birthday_ , rises in its place.

“…It’s nothing.” Felix clears his throat. “Come train with me, you’ve been cooped up in there for too long.”

Glenn frowns slightly. “It’s not nothing if you’re upset. But alright, we can train.” He glances over his shoulder. “I can’t be gone for too long, especially without alerting Byleth for their help in keeping an eye on Dimitri, but it _has_ been a little while since we last sparred.”

Felix grimaces, but nods and leads the way. Unsurprising that Glenn would place being at the boar’s side above his time with Felix, but Felix will just have to take what he can get.

Glenn frowns thoughtfully as they walk, counting something against his fingers. “Today’s the 22nd, isn’t it? It was your birthday a couple days ago.” He turns his head and gives Felix a small grin. “Happy twenty-third, Fe.”

The jealousy clawing at Felix’s chest eases, slightly.

“Thanks. But don’t go easy on me because it was my birthday recently—I need to train my non-dominant hand in control.”

Glenn smirks. “When have I ever gone easy on you? You still have a long way to go before you can even dream of beating me.”

“Don’t take me so lightly,” Felix says, sniping back.

Glenn barks a single laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ’Lix.” 

There’s no wasted banter or unnecessary taunts as they select their training weapons and begin, none of Ingrid’s unnecessary ceremony and propriety, none of Sylvain’s—

Felix doesn’t think of that. He doesn’t think of anything but his blade and his target as he aims for Glenn’s weak side.

Despite the hours spent shadowing the boar, Glenn’s training is impossibly sharp while Felix’s is more dulled than the last time they fought, and Felix finds himself without a sword in short order, his grip somehow too weak and unstable. He watches, betrayed by his hands and by his exhaustion, as Glenn flicks it away with a single, smooth motion.

Felix raises his fists, ready to continue with hand-to-hand combat. 

Glenn rolls his eyes. “Just yield, Fe.”

“Never.”

“Fine,” Glenn says, darting forward again. He earns another point against Felix’s shoulder before he can do more than turn slightly to block the attack. “We can keep going, but you won’t get any hits on me with your sloppy form.”

Felix growls as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s more ready for Glenn’s next attack, but the block is still sloppy and the hit of the training sword stings against his wrist. Glenn scores three more taps in quick succession as Felix struggles to properly raise his guard, and he sighs after the third, backing off to cross his arms and stare at Felix.

“You need to rest. You have to take care of yourself.”

“Fuck you, I am.” Felix runs a hand against his cut lip, scowling as it comes away red.

“Really?” Glenn says, tilting his head. “Then I’m disappointed in how weak you are.”

Felix bares his teeth. “I’m not weak.”

“You’re not,” Glenn agrees, with surprising ease. “You’re incredibly strong when you have your focus and energy. But you’re a mess right now. Why?”

“None of your business,” Felix says as he bends to retrieve his sword, keeping his back to Glenn to hide the embarrassed flush creeping its way into his cheeks.

“Is it Sylvain?”

Felix turns sharply. “It’s not Sylvain.”

“Okay, so it’s Sylvain.” Felix opens his mouth to protest, but Glenn continues, ignoring him. “Do I need to threaten him?”

“ _No_ ,” Felix says, emphatic. “I already told you, it’s not Sylvain.”

Glenn hums thoughtfully, apparently choosing to keep up the pretense that he can’t hear Felix speak.

“Were we in peacetime, I could challenge him for you, but unfortunately, he’s an effective general.” Glenn gives him a small frown. “I don’t like to say ‘I told you so’, but I did tell you that you can do better, and I stand by that.”

Felix can envision it. Sylvain, with all his half-hearted training, falling effortlessly in a duel. He’d probably barely last a minute if Glenn decided to fight seriously. He could be taken out even more easily with a well-planned assassination. Felix’s stupid, weak heart trembles at the thought, and he drops his head to his chest, letting his bangs fall so that Glenn can’t see his eyes.

“Glenn.”

“It’s a pity, I’m not sure he’d accept a formal challenge… Or he could be another casualty in the next battle, hmm.”

“ _Glenn_.”

“Just say the word, ’Lix.” 

“No! I’m not—I _can’t_ …” Felix digs his nails into his palms, letting the focus of the pain draw him away from the idiotic, emotional turmoil roiling in his gut. He can feel the prick of tears against his eyes and he blinks rapidly, inhaling sharply to force them away. “I’ll get over it.”

Glenn approaches, his gaze critical, and he puts a careful hand on Felix’s shoulder. The other rises slowly to Felix’s chin away from his chest to meet Glenn’s gaze. “’Lix, what did he do?”

Felix bites his lip. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“I can help you more if I know what he did, but I’ll speak with him anyway.”

Felix shakes his head. “…I’ll get over it, it was my own foolishness. You don’t have to.”

Glenn looks him in the eyes, full of fierce, protective determination, and Felix feels pinned by the intensity of his gaze. “I’m your older brother, Fe. Let me protect you.”

Something crumples inside Felix at “ _Let me protect you_ ” and his shoulders drop. Glenn holds up his good arm, inviting and open and so fully present and invested in Felix—

Felix lets himself fall into the embrace, lets himself be carefully safeguarded, lets himself be cared for. Just for the moment. He can feel Glenn’s hand patting gently against his head, and he lets out a shuddered breath. “Thank you, Glenn.”

* * *

Glenn accompanies him away from the training grounds, stopping only briefly to converse with the Professor when they cross paths.

There’s a confused, delirious joy bubbling under Felix’s skin as Glenn stands with him in the line for the dining hall. He’s not sure Glenn’s ever eaten in here, previously electing instead to carry out his portions and take them to the cathedral to ensure that the boar also eats.

Glenn catches Felix’s wide-eyed stare. “Byleth is talking to Dimitri so that I can spend some more time with you.” He bows slightly. “I’m sorry, Fe, I’ve been neglecting you.”

Felix’s jaw clicks shut and he nods, swallowing around the knot in his throat. He’ll have to remember to thank the Professor later. 

Glenn’s lips tilt up as he surveys their options. “Let me guess. You’re going to get the super spicy fish dango?”

Felix had intended to, but now that Glenn’s called him on it, he kind of wants to switch to another dish. Unfortunately, the rest of them all prominently feature vegetables ( _ick_ ). He turns away and shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe.”

Glenn laughs quietly, taking a serving for himself and passing a plate to Felix. “There’s no shame, Fe. You’re just the same as you’ve always been.”

Felix grunts, accepting his dango from the staff and turning to search for table space and friendly faces. Ashe catches his eye and waves, and Felix nods back. He can see Sylvain eating only a few quiet spaces further, but he does not make eye contact, does not acknowledge the tentative wave. Felix drops himself into the space across from Ashe, and Glenn places himself between Felix and Sylvain, partially blocking the other man from sight. A small mixed wave of relief and gratefulness hits Felix, and he can feel the corners of his lips quirk up without permission. 

“H-hello, Sir Glenn!” Ashe stares openly at Glenn, still starstruck despite the nearly two months of eating, fighting, and living side by side.

“Ashe, right? It’s just Glenn.”

Ashe nods eagerly. “O-of course, S—. I mean, G-glenn.”

Glenn gives Ashe a wry smile. “Tell me, do you have any stories I should hear about Felix’s time in the Officer’s Academy? I know ’Lix can be a bit difficult sometimes, so I’d like to apologize for his behavior, but I’d have to know what he did first.”

Felix takes it back. He’s not grateful for the Professor’s meddling and Glenn’s choice to finally spend time with him.

“Ooh! Are we telling Felix stories!” Felix glares as at Annette as she slides into the space next to Ashe. “You must have all the best ones. What was he like as a kid!” 

There’s a blur of red and steel at the edges of Felix’s vision. “Hey, I’ve always had great Felix stories, why don’t you guys ever ask me?” Sylvain noisily slides himself over, and Felix clenches a fist against his leg. He can see Glenn turn to Sylvain out of the corner of his eye, and he grabs a dango skewer, roughly biting off one of the fish balls.

The food is slightly too hot against his tongue, the pleasant tingle of the spice overrun with the temperature of the food, but he ignores it, his mind buzzing with “ _I might have had a crush on Glenn_ ”. He can’t hear anything, only vaguely aware that the others are still talking. 

Felix eats quickly, his tongue complaining at each scalding bite, but he shoves it all down in record time. He pushes himself to his feet. “Excuse me.” He nods vaguely to the table. “Sorry I can’t stay. Glenn, I’ll be training.”

Glenn nods. “I trust you know not to over-exert yourself, but I’ll find you later.”

Felix picks up his plate and turns.

“Wait, Felix, I’m done too, let me come with you—”

“Sit, Gautier,” Glenn’s voice says behind him.

There’s a muted thump behind him as Sylvain slinks back into his seat. Felix walks away quickly, and he doesn’t look back. 

* * *

Ingrid comes to find him first.

“Whatever it is you two have going on, you really need to work it out. The mission to Ailell leaves in two days, and even though this one should be straightforward, we can’t afford you two fighting like petty children.”

Felix grunts, casting Thoron. It hits the dummy, but at an angle and not quite in the center of its chest. He scowls at the scorch mark, grimacing as its imperfection jeers back at him.

“There’s nothing to work out.”

“Whatever you say, Felix.” Ingrid’s eye roll is audible. “But if your squabbling gets in the way of the mission, it’ll be on your head if it costs us this war. You _know_ that isn’t a risk we can take.”

“There’s no risk.” Felix fires off a weak Thunder at the dummy behind Ingrid and she sidesteps it, frowning at his petty attack. “I am always in top form for the missions, and this one will be no different.”

“Felix. This isn’t just about _you_. What are we going to do if Sylvain messes something up because he’s distracted?”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Really, Felix, is that the tact you’re going for? You don’t care at all?”

“That’s not—I didn’t say that.” Felix wills his traitorous heart to shut up and cease its racket. “But he’s a grown man, he’s a _general_ of this army, and if he can’t take care of himself, then no one else can be responsible for that for him.”

Felix retrieves a battered Levin Sword and swings the lightning blade in one hand, centering himself for another magical attack. The weight of Ingrid’s judgment is heavy against the back of his neck, but she says nothing.

After a long beat, Felix caves to the oppressive silence. “If Sylvain’s going to be useless, he has no place in this army.” He manages to keep himself from stuttering over Sylvain’s name, but it’s a very near thing. Another weakness he has to correct.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.” Felix swings, unleashing the charged magic from the blade to strike at his dummy. “This is war, there’s no space for hesitation or wasted feelings.”

Ingrid huffs, crossing her arms as she steps in front of his target. “He asked if you’d told me anything, because you haven’t spoken to him in over a week. Felix, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.”

She stares him down, emerald eyes piercing in a way that would make a weaker man quail in his boots. Felix is not a weaker man. He simply turns and unleashes another charged bolt at the dummy on the opposite side of the yard.

“ _Felix Hugo_.”

“Fine! You want to know what happened?!” Felix says, whirling back to her, grip tight against the sword. “He said—”

The words are poised on the tip of his tongue, but they hurt to say, and the fight drops away, leaving nothing but the ugly vulnerability of Felix’s worthless emotions. “H-he said that he has a c-crush on… on G-glenn.”

Ingrid’s face pinches in confusion. “ _What?_ That doesn’t sound like Sylvain. The way he talks about you…” Ingrid shudders. “Are you _sure_ that’s what he said?”

Felix grits his teeth. “I know what I heard.”

“Those exact words?”

“He said, ‘ _I might have had a crush on Glenn._ ’” The words have carved away at the inside of his skull in almost every waking moment since they were spoken, and Felix isn’t sure he’ll ever forget them.

“‘He _might have had_ ,’ Felix?” Ingrid looks at him, unimpressed. “You’re cold-shouldering your boyfriend because he said he maybe liked Glenn when he was younger?”

“You weren’t there. He was just—those words were just to try to soften the sentiment.” The words ring hollow in Felix’s ears, and he can feel his cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment. 

“Yes, because Sylvain lies to you.” Ingrid’s sarcasm itches against Felix’s skin, and the urge to refute her is immediate.

“He _does_.” He doesn’t, and especially not for things that matter, but Sylvain does lie and Felix can’t be sure to what extent sometimes. “I won’t be another notch in his bedpost.”

Ingrid makes a face. “Don’t make me think about the two of you sleeping together, _please_.”

“That’s not—He doesn’t have to… have to _love_ someone to fuck them. He’s made that _abundantly_ clear.”

“Right. And that’s why he spent almost two years pining loudly after you, bothering me and Mercedes about it in letters constantly.” Ingrid’s tone is caustic, but the words send an airy, tingling buzz of elation into Felix’s easily-impressed and affection-starved core. “ _‘Have you heard from Felix?’_ , _‘I hope Felix is doing well, I miss him.’_ , _‘Felix was so pretty the last time we saw him, don’t you think?’_ He just wanted to wax poetic about you constantly for no reason than to traumatize us.” 

“I—Well, I mean—”

“Goddess above, you’re both so stupid.” Ingrid walks around Felix, shoving at his shoulder and marching him toward the exit. “This isn’t worth my time, so you two better stop making me be your messenger.” She yanks open the door to the training grounds with an aggravated huff. “Get out, get out—! You two need to talk it out!”

The door clatters shut behind him, and Felix can vaguely make out a grumbled noise that sounds like _“Men!”_ before Ingrid is too far to hear.

Felix sends a rude hand gesture to the wood behind him and considers the merits of pissing Ingrid off further and re-entering the grounds, but it’s too late—his mind is scattered and humming with irrepressible and irresponsible tremors of wishful thinking. He can’t seem to channel anything other than a rash of irritation at Ingrid and a rush of affection for Sylvain and his big, dumb, babbling mouth.

* * *

In Felix’s defense, the two days before the march begins are busy with preparations, and Glenn, true to his word about protecting Felix, stays by his side between tasks. So really, there isn’t an appropriate time to try to talk to Sylvain, whatever Ingrid’s opinions. The following three days on the road to Ailell start early and end late, with only enough time to unpack and rest at night, and exhaustion bears down on them all. That doesn’t stop Sylvain from attempting to approach Felix at inopportune moments, but Glenn wards the other man off, with wild and resounding success. It isn’t actually necessary, but it’s… _nice_ to know that Glenn cares enough to protect him even from a harmless threat. 

It’s a wonderful feeling for his brother to care and to be present, and Felix doesn’t want it to end; for those fleeting moments, Felix is, for once, undoubtedly the second Fraldarius son. The minor twinge of guilt at Sylvain’s crestfallen face is rapidly washed out by the intoxicating joy of having the chance to monopolize his brother’s attention and affection.

Glenn, marching at Felix’s side, laughing with Felix at meals, offering him advice on training to prepare for handicaps—it’s an impossibility, but it’s _real_ , the elation warm against Felix’s tongue, almost sweet, but in a way he doesn’t hate.

Felix spends so much time with Glenn that the Professor’s choice of formation is more than a little jarring.

Ingrid must have tattled to get him here, standing in the Valley of Torment with Sylvain placed purposely behind him, their small group rushing last-minute preparations for the battle on the horizon. Glenn has returned to the boar’s side, prepared to be his adjutant through the battle, and he stands ready to guide Dimitri from making rash decisions and to cover his blind side. The Professor remains free to move quickly through the battlefield, and they survey the field from atop their wyvern, ready to command.

“Hey, Fe, looks like it’s you and me.” Sylvain gives Felix a lopsided smile, projecting an air of nonchalance, but Felix can see where the dark circles have deepened under his eyes. He traces the tension radiating in Sylvain’s shoulders and the heavy tiredness weighing into every inch of Sylvain’s posture, and a small blade of guilt twists in his gut. Perhaps Ingrid was right, but it’s too late now.

Felix grunts. “Don’t be sloppy.”

“Nah, I’ve got you to watch my back, right?” There’s a despondent tinge to the words and the guilt digs in further.

“Of course, that’s not a question.” Sylvain sits up a little straighter in his saddle at the reassurance and Felix lets out a small sigh of relief. 

The tranquil moment doesn’t last, and the image of Sylvain thrown from his horse and lying burning against Ailell’s liquid fire flashes unbidden through Felix’s mind. A jolt of fear bleeds down Felix’s back, and he can’t keep the waver from his voice as he opens his mouth to speak again. “But… Sylvain—! Don’t make me have to.”

Sylvain’s gaze softens and he smiles sadly. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll try not to.”

Try. That’s all they can do in this war, even though it is not enough. It’ll never be enough. Sothis willing, they’ll make it through this, despite how unprepared they are.

Sylvain canters off to organize his battalion and leave them with final instructions; it’s almost surprising at times, but he’s gotten more competent. Felix still holds that Sylvain could do to train himself more, but there’s no denying that he’s a good leader to his men. 

“Thank you,” he says to the air behind Sylvain’s retreating back.

Felix turns to deliver a similar quick speech to his own gathered men and women.

All too soon, House Rowe charges and Sylvain falls into place beside Felix, their dance familiar as Sylvain guards Felix’s left and back seamlessly and Felix does the same for him. 

Felix breathes deeply, one step closer to home.

* * *

It happens in slow motion.

Felix, busy readying another Thoron to cast at the paladin charging him, misses the swordmaster coming at him from behind. It’s unknown how he could have failed to track her as she cut through the battlefield, but only one thing is clear in that moment: Sylvain sees her and Felix doesn’t.

Sylvain drags his horse into the line of the swordmaster’s attack, the movement sudden and jarring as the horse whickers loudly in protest. Felix turns his head just as the blade swings down from above the swordmaster’s head to drive roughly into the shoulder of Sylvain’s horse. The animal collapses below Sylvain and drops him to the ground, trapping his leg under its bulk as it neighs in distress and pain.

The sword is raised once more, aimed with precision toward Sylvain’s neck and Felix’s heart stops.

He does not think as he releases a desperate, charged bolt of magic into the swordmaster’s chest and races over to help free Sylvain. The horse is heavy and uncooperative as it whinnies plaintively, but though monumental effort, Sylvain manages to crawl out, breathing heavily. Sylvain turns immediately to shush the animal and cast a Heal against the still-ebbing wound, whispering soothingly as he does so. 

The battle around them rages on, and Felix rushes to his feet to take a defensive position, protecting them both as Sylvain tends to his horse. Seconds drip by in time with the beading sweat falling from his brow, distorted by the haze of heat and drawn out by the anxious focus coursing in his veins. Each swing of Felix’s blade feels heavier than the last, and the oppressive valley drives itself deeper into his bones. 

Felix swings and cuts and carves, barely more than a part of the weapon in his hands, human only in his drive to save what deserves protecting.

At long last, Sylvain stands and guides his horse back onto wobbling legs, bending to retrieve the Lance of Ruin from where it had fallen when he’d been thrown. He turns to face Felix with an diffident hand scrubbing through his hair and more unnecessary apologies poised on his lips, and the shame in Felix’s gut stabs, unwavering and true. Felix can’t let Sylvain say he’s sorry, not when he’s the one at fault. Recklessness seizes him and he slings an arm around Sylvain’s neck, dragging the other man into a rough kiss. It’s barely more than their mouths crashing clumsily together, but it gets the message across.

It’s objectively not a good kiss, and the steam rising from the ground below them makes it worse, but, _fuck_ , Felix had forgotten how good it feels to be this close to Sylvain.

“Oi, there’s a battle going on!” Ingrid’s exasperated voice cuts through, jolting them back to reality.

Felix ignores Sylvain’s slack-jawed stare as he pulls away, his gaze trained on his sword. “Don’t scare me like that again,” maybe makes its way out of his mouth, fumbled against his tongue, and he turns back to the chaos around them.

It’s not until after Felix has felled another three enemies as Sylvain’s stares on, motionless, that he’s forced to acknowledge Sylvain’s lack of focus.

Felix glares as he rounds on Sylvain. “Take your horse to safety, then get your ass back into the fight.”

Sylvain lets out a small chuckle, not as broad or warm as his usual laughter, but honest. It’s one of the nicest sounds that Felix has heard in a while. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Felix cracks a smirk at him. “We’ll talk later.” 

There’s something like hope burgeoning in his chest, and for once, Felix lets it bloom. 

_We’ll both make it through this._

* * *

The sudden battle at Ailell goes well, mostly. 

Felix could do without the new, bonus baggage weighing down their growing army in the form of a useless duke hellbent on joining Glenn in standing protectively over the boar’s shoulders, but they suffer few casualties, and the worst injury among the Blue Lions is a dislocated shoulder, quickly set and healed. 

Glenn finds Felix after and offers to stay with him on the march back, his eyes glaring daggers at Sylvain’s back. Felix shakes his head and watches as Sylvain consolingly offers his horse a sugar cube, his insides mushy and aching in a way that he knows and resents as weakness but is accepting as maybe okay in small doses. 

“I’m fine, Glenn.” He takes a deep breath. “We’re fine—or, we will be.”

Glenn’s eyes narrow, but he nods. “I’ll be here if he tries anything funny. Just send me any sign.” He purses his lips. “In the meantime, I can run interference with Father. I saw you glaring at him earlier when he pulled out Dimitri’s regalia. We’re going to have to unpack that, but… Later.”

Felix winces. “…Later.”

Glenn leaves him with a light slap on the shoulder.

Felix turns to familiar, metallic clunking approaching him from behind. 

“Hey, you.” Sylvain says, smiling and slinging an arm across Felix’s shoulders. Felix settles into the embrace, resting his his against Sylvain’s shoulder. It’s uncomfortable against the hard steel of Sylvain’s chest plate, but after a quiet beat, the arm tightens and Sylvain releases a shaking breath against Felix’s hair. “Are we okay, Fe?”

The knot in Felix’s chest unravels and he turns to bury his face in Sylvain’s neck, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist and breathing deeply as he searches for that comforting, bright, homey scent under the layers of sweat and ash. It’s too hot for this here, the ground below them gurgling menacingly as it throws off endless waves of heat, but Felix doesn’t let himself care, not even when the sweat beading his brow begins to drip uncomfortably into the fur of his coat. 

There’s a faint creak of metal as Sylvain’s arms encircle him, protective and careful, like Felix will shatter if he’s exposed to too much affection all at once. 

Honestly, he might.

“Fe?”

“Shut… shut up. Just—just let me have this.”

A hand rises to rest gently against Felix’s head, and Sylvain tilts to press a tentative kiss against Felix’s temple. Felix knows he should say something, that Sylvain’s probably holding back the almost two weeks of complete silence, but all Felix wants in this moment is to let himself be held. To let himself accept a little of the weakness. To let it float out between them to be reforged into something stronger. Rodrigue’s voice echoes in the background as he chats with the Professor and the unending hiss of Ailell’s vents murmur all around them, but to Felix, the only sound is the muted beating of Sylvain’s heart where it echoes slightly against his armor.

The uneasy feeling that Sylvain might once have felt for Glenn what Felix feels for Sylvain now is daunting, leering over his shoulder as he presses deeper into the hug. He doesn’t need to look at it. If he ignores it for long enough, if he lets himself accept that Sylvain looks only at him now, if he starves out the bitter jealousy always trying to rear its ugly head… maybe he won’t have to fear every time his heart yearns.

Sylvain is the first to pull back, pulling Felix’s hands away to gently hold them in his own. An appalling, low whine forces its way out of Felix’s throat as the warmth around him drops from death-knell to simply oppressive, and he finds himself staring at Sylvain’s mouth as he chews on his lower lip.

“Felix, whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

Felix shakes his head. “No— _no_. Sylvain, don’t.”

“I didn’t realize how badly or how quickly I could fuck it up… and even worse, not really be sure what it is I did.” Sylvain lets out a hollow laugh. “After all those failed relationships, I really thought I knew how to make this one right.” 

The bitter, self-deprecating smirk looks like a wound on Sylvain’s face, a gash far deeper than Felix would have ever expected, festering as it grows inward. It’s his fault, and Felix needs to apologize, but he doesn’t know how.

“Stop. _Stop._ ”

“Y-yeah, whatever it is, I’ll stop.” Sylvain’s eyes drop to his feet. “Whatever you need. If you want me to leave you alone…” He swallows roughly. “I’ll do it, but you—you have to tell me, Fe. Please. I’ll be what you need, but I’m not a mind-reader.”

“No. Sylvain, shut up!”

Sylvain steps back, dropping Felix’s hands and rubbing against the back of his neck. “Yeah, I hear you, loud and clear. Leave you alone, give you space. I just—I don’t know, I wish you’d just said this to start. Don’t—don’t give me hope, Fe, just to take it away.”

It hurts. It _hurts_ , to see Sylvain this shattered. It hurts even more because it’s Felix’s fault. 

“Shut up,” Felix snarls again. He grabs Sylvain by the collar, pulling the other down into a biting kiss. There’s a chiding tone ringing in the back of his mind telling him to “use his words”, but words have never been Felix’s strong suit, and he pours his frustration and urgency into his tongue and lips, letting all the raw, gritty pain and loneliness of the previous weeks rise to the surface and paint the air between them. 

After a long moment, Felix pulls back, a stinging in his eyes. He’s quick to brush it away with the back of his hand. 

“Shut up,” he says again. “Stop apologizing. It’s not—you didn’t do anything wrong. I just—don’t laugh at me.” Felix pauses, steadying himself. “But I… I… well, I may have… reacted, um, _badly_ when you said you had a crush on Glenn.” 

Felix chances a glance up. Sylvain’s brows are drawn in, confusion etched into the strange twist of his lips. “I—I thought you didn’t want me, not really, and I—”

“You started pretending I didn’t exist.” The acrid taste of Sylvain’s words bears down on Felix’s shoulders. 

“I’m—I was wrong.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you were.” Sylvain lets out a shaky sigh. “Felix, babe, _sweetheart_ —I would never do that to you. You’re the most important person in my life, I love you, I swear. With all my heart.”

Felix fights down the urge to pull Sylvain into another kiss. They need to _talk_ . “I know that—I _know_. I mean, I know now, and I’ve probably known for a while, because you’re always, _always_ , infuriatingly right there. Right when I need you.”

“But you still don’t trust me.” Sylvain’s expression, already glass-like, becomes impossibly more brittle, his eyes forlorn and empty as he stares emptily into the distance. “I want to be there for you, Felix.” Sylvain sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I _want_ to, but—but I don’t know if I can do it if this hot-and-cold, on-and-off thing is going to happen again. I love you, but it really fucking sucked to know you were mad at me and not even be able to talk to you to say sorry.”

“You don’t— _Sylvain_ , stop apologizing!” Felix feels the urge to stab or punch something. Hitting his hand against Sylvain’s chest plate will have to do. “I—I should have said something, but it’s not… You _know_ it’s not easy for me. I care about you, moron, and I don’t like seeing you beat yourself up when it’s my fault.”

“Was it really your fault? Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like hell when you suddenly went completely cold and I couldn’t figure out why, but… I should have kept my mouth shut in the first place.” Sylvain draws Felix back in, gently cupping his cheek in one hand. “I’ve never deserved you, Fe. I thought maybe you’d finally realized it.”

“ _Sylvain_.” The word comes out more breathy and unsure than Felix intends as he drowns in the sad pools of Sylvain’s eyes. “D-don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true,” Sylvain snorts. “Don’t worry, I won’t blame you for thinking or saying it.” 

“It’s not true. A-and. And!” Felix huffs a breath, fighting off the red threatening to rise in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

Sylvain sniffs, wet and relieved, his smile shifting into something honest. It’s still fragile, still afraid to be hurt again, but there’s a strength behind it, born from faith renewed. Felix leans into the hand, his own rising to gently hold onto its gauntlet, and a single tear streaks slowly down Felix’s cheek.

“Thanks, Fe. It really… it really means a lot.”

Felix blinks away the wetness in his eyes. “I—yeah. Sylvain, I’m so sorry, I lo—”

“Is everything okay?” The Professor’s voice cuts in, their normally-blank tone verging on concern. 

Felix jumps back—the luminescent heat in his cheeks caused solely by their surroundings and not at all by being interrupted—but Sylvain catches his hand before he can escape. 

Sylvain offers him a comforting squeeze, and he turns to the Professor, a tremulous smile buried behind his next words.“You know, Professor, they’re not. But I think they’re getting better.”

* * *

The march back to Garreg Mach is peaceful. Sylvain is stuck traveling on foot, side by side with Felix, occasionally lacing their fingers together as they walk at the head of their battalions. He’s on foot partly because he cares about his steed, but more because Ingrid would skin him alive for daring to try to work a horse before it’s fully healed from battle injury. Glenn checks in on them at least once every few hours, his eyes suspicious of Sylvain, but he doesn’t stay long enough to do more than glare. For once, Felix doesn’t mind when Glenn leaves again, and he reciprocates when Sylvain’s hand tightens around his.

At one point, Felix’s father approaches to congratulate him on the work he’s done in keeping the boar alive, effusive in his praise of Glenn and the Professor for what they’ve done for Faerghus by preventing Dimitri from getting them all killed. Felix scoffs and Sylvain frowns, neither of them saying a word as Rodrigue’s compliments slide uncomfortably over Felix. The implicit “you should be doing what Glenn is” hangs sour in the air and Felix adamantly pretends he can’t read the subtext.

They arrive back at Garreg Mach at nightfall on the third day after Ailell, and Glenn taps Felix on the shoulder before he can follow Sylvain to the dormitories.

“Good night, Gautier, you’re dismissed,” Glenn says, eyes focused on Felix.

Felix turns to press a light kiss against Sylvain’s jaw, prickly where Sylvain needs a shave. He refuses to meet either of the others’ eyes as he feels a flush claw its way up his face and neck. “I’ll see you later.”

Before Felix can react, he’s pulled into a crushing hug and a kiss is dropped onto the crown of his head. Glenn’s voice tuts impatiently, and he waits a few seconds before loudly clearing his throat. 

“I said, good night, Gautier.”

Sylvain releases Felix slowly, like he can’t bear to let go, and the soft, stupid part of Felix’s heart flutters in agreement. “I’ll wait for you in your room,” Sylvain says, breathing gently against Felix’s ear.

Felix nods, not trusting his voice, and he steps back, gently pushing Sylvain away. 

Sylvain leaves with one last wave, and Felix turns to Glenn. “What?”

Glenn eyes him, critical. “Are you sure?”

“Of what?”

Glenn throws Felix a flat look. “Don’t play dumb, ’Lix, it doesn’t suit you.”

Felix snorts. “We’re fine now. I told you.”

“…If you say so. Just remember, I’m here to protect you if you need it.”

“I’m _taller_ than you.” Felix straightens to full height, pointedly refusing to think about how tall certain members of their army are. Bastards, Sylvain and the boar both. “Who’s going to protect who now?”

“Taller, and yet, weaker.”

“Who are you calling weak?” Felix says, affronted. Definitely not a squawk. 

Glenn throws Felix an amused look. “Last I remember, I wiped the floor with you in our last training session. Would you like a repeat lesson?”

Felix glares. “You’re on.” He pauses, Sylvain’s lingering weight on his shoulders rising to contort into a question. He’s probably waiting for Felix and still vulnerable after their two weeks of not speaking to one another, likely hopeful for the warmth and comfort of a shared bed. “But maybe not tonight.”

Glenn wrinkles his nose. “Please, Fe, don’t make me think of you and Gautier together.”

Felix flushes. “No! I mean, not _no_ , but—anyway, that’s not what I meant.” 

“You’re not helping your case.”

“Shut _up_ , Glenn.”

Glenn chuckles, dry and rude. “Whatever you need, Fe.” He nods his head to the dormitories. “I’ll wish you a good night here, then. I should go to Dimitri.”

Felix wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Is the boar still hiding out in the cathedral?”

“ _Dimitri_ , Felix. But yes, he might be.”

“I’ll call him what I want. He hasn’t earned a human title.”

Glenn sighs. “If not for him, then for me? If I have to put up with you and the Gautier boy sucking face, you could do me the courtesy of being polite to Dimitri.”

Several things click into place all at once and Felix can feel his face convulse instinctively as he attempts to process all them simultaneously. “Y-you. And—? No. _No_.”

“What, did you think you were the only person capable of romance? I assure you, Felix, many others wish you were as immune to love as you pretend to be. I’ve heard _several_ noise complaints about you and Sylvain and very much wish I hadn’t.”

Felix can’t deal with the accusations, so: “So—so…? You and _him_ , in the—” Felix makes a wounded noise. “Tell me you haven’t fucked in the cathedral.”

“Not strictly speaking, no.” Felix exhales in relief, and Glenn rolls his eyes. “I am taking care of Dimitri, trying to help him free himself from his guilt, where possible. We still have a lot to figure out. Like you and Sylvain do, clearly.” 

Glenn looks off into the distance, his gaze fond. “But I care for him, both as my prince and as something more. So I’m asking you, Felix, as your brother, be kind to Dimitri, for _me_.”

Felix grunts. “ _Fine_. I’ll try. He—the boar— _Dimitri_. It would be good to see him again without all those gravestones weighing him down. So…I hope you work it out.”

“I suppose that will have to do for tonight. Thank you.” Glenn nods. “Good night, ’Lix.”

Glenn turns away without a backward glance, leaving Felix to muddle through the mess of his emotions. That conversation had been… eye-opening, to say the least. He shakes his head roughly, trying to free himself of certain unpleasant images, and he heads toward the dormitories.

The thought strikes him as he approaches the second floor that he had been jealous of Glenn’s affection for Dimitri. Now that he knows the _type_ of affection—. Revulsion swims in his stomach and he fights down the urge to retch. He loves Glenn, dearly, but absolutely not _like that_.

Ugh, Felix will never be able to unsee the mental image of Glenn and Dimitri, _together_. 

It’s in that moment that the optimistic, needy child inside chooses to remind Felix that if Dimitri is not his favorite sibling, then Felix is. And that while this debacle with Sylvain has been an unmitigated disaster in many ways, he’s come out the other side a little closer to Glenn for it. Silver linings to the hellish two weeks he’s faced, likely not enough to sustain him through the war that might still stretch through an endless number more.

But a silver lining nonetheless. 

Felix stops in front of his door, letting the tension ebb away, momentarily unafraid of the future. He’s sure that Sylvain is waiting for him. He doesn’t doubt that Glenn cares. 

They’re all still alive and together, even after the ambush.

Maybe they _can_ pull off a miracle and win the war.

Felix pushes open the door and meets Sylvain’s soft smile with one of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas). You can retweet this fic [here](https://twitter.com/euphemeas/status/1233938164684873729)!
> 
> As before, please check out Casey's [Glenn Lives Moment](https://twitter.com/i/events/1219033610935771138)!!


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